


insomnia

by 101places



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Also like I cannot describe how annoying it is that Clara's tag on here is wrong, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It irritates me so much but like... that's not the point here dfsghjk, It's mostly introspection though, Like a little bit?, Like. part of it is? not all of it, Nightmares, Post-Trenzalore, god i dont know how to tag shit, idk man it kinda got away from me tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:30:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/101places/pseuds/101places
Summary: Clara Oswald has always had bad dreams.





	insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> so uhhh i dont actually like how this turned out at all but its been sitting on my computer for so long, so i just decided to write up a quick ending & post it. i'll probably end up writing something with a similar premise sometime in the future because i Really dont think i did this justice  
> BUT ANYWAY here it is

When you run away with an alien in a time machine, you tend to expect that it won’t all be totally perfect. You expect to be running for your life, to rush into the safety of the TARDIS with barely a moment to spare- to look back and think ‘if I’d been just a second slower, I wouldn’t be here anymore’. That’s the life you signed up for, so when it’s what you get, it doesn’t really bother you, and if it does, you get used to it pretty quickly.

What’s a bit less expected are the quieter ways you’re effected.

The way your mind wanders when you’re meant to be helping Artie with his homework, or how when Angie slams her door shut for a split-second you’re expecting more than just an angry teenager.

Even though you’ve worked as hard as you can to keep your life in the stars separated from your life on Earth, it ends up leaking through anyway.

Not all of those leaks are as little and easy to brush past, however. Of course, there's the way you’re actually found out- photos that you didn’t think twice about when they were taken- but there are other things, too. Things that you’re sure people will start asking questions about sooner or later.

Those things, of course, are the nightmares.

* * *

Clara Oswald had always been susceptible to nightmares. As a child, she’d dream of getting lost, separated from her parents in dark, twisting forests or amongst crowds of giant, faceless strangers. Whenever she woke up from a night terror, she’d rush into her parents room, and have to spend the rest of the night curled up between them. This wasn’t a problem for her, but if she’d been just a little bit older, she might have noticed the tired looks her parents wore.

However, nothing lasts forever, and Clara found herself growing out of her nightmares. They didn’t hold the same fear that they had before. The forests became mysterious and magical, and the crowds became full of friendly faces. She saw the beauty in the unknown, and her easily distracted child’s mind moved on.

Even so, the memories of those years of fear stayed within her, and at 16 years old she found out that she hadn’t quite outgrown her nightmares. They’d grown up alongside her, waiting in the shadows of her mind for the best moment to strike.

In her dreams, she was once again lost. But this time, she wasn’t alone or surrounded by strangers. All around her were people that she knew- there was just one face missing, and no matter how much she searched, she could never find her.

Once, when she was very young, Clara had been told that no matter where she was, her mother would always find her. Now, Clara was forced to realise that had been a lie.

* * *

Clara’s nightmares didn’t stay forever. Once again, she grew strong enough to fight them back, and they retreated. She still carried around a heart heavy from loss, but she didn’t let that hold her back anymore. She lived her life on behalf of her mother. She laughed, raged and cried because she knew that’s what her mother would have wanted for her.

But she didn’t forget.

Deep down, Clara knew that she was vulnerable to night terrors. She knew that fantastical night-time recreations were her mind’s go-to way of processing difficult things. So even though she continued moving forwards, she kept that awareness in the back of her mind, and prepared herself for when she’d next become stuck.

* * *

It should have been expected, really, that when dealing with aliens and monsters, her mind would have another hurdle. She should have seen it coming.

Yet, somehow… she’d been so caught up in the wonder of it all, that the thought of her night terrors never entered her mind. Or, at least, they never entered her mind until she was stuck in one.

After waking up, she couldn’t even remember what she’d dreamt of. She remembered fire and heat, a maze that just stretched on forever, and a feeling of deep fear. The longer she was awake for, the more what little she remembered vanished, until all that was left was the fear.

As she lay on her back in her bed, staring at the ceiling of her room on the TARDIS, Clara came to a conclusion. There was no way she was going to be able to get back to sleep.

With not nearly as much difficulty as she felt she probably should’ve had, she pulled herself out of bed, shrugged on a dressing gown, and trudged down the long, winding corridors of the TARDIS, her destination: the kitchen.

After two minutes of walking she wondered if she’d taken a wrong turning. After five minutes she wondered if she even knew where she was going. After half an hour she was forced to admit that she was horribly, completely lost.

With a groan, Clara brought her hands to her face. Then she brought them down, and glared at the ceiling.

“I know you’re doing this on purpose!” She felt a bit silly, yelling at a machine, but the Doctor  _ had _ said that it was living, “Why do you hate me?”

Clara didn’t know if it was just her imagination or not, but she could’ve sworn that the lighting became somewhat warmer. It was probably just her lack of sleep, but Clara was convinced that she was being laughed at.

“Fine- fine! If you want to do this, then  _ fine _ . I’m just going to pick a direction, and keep walking.”

She hesitated for a moment, as if she expected the TARDIS to respond, before she did as she’d said, and began to walk again.

The corridor ahead twisted and turned, but much to Clara’s displeasure, there wasn’t even a single door. There was nothing to mark her progress by, and certainly no kitchen. She stopped walking and glared up at the ceiling again.

“I know what you’re doing! You’re trying to mess with me!” The lighting became warmer again. That silent laugh. “Look- I’ll take it back! I’ll take whatever you’re upset with me over  _ back _ , just please, please,  _ please _ let me find the kitchen.”

The lighting shifted again, which Clara took to be some kind of acknowledgment. Around the next corner, she saw the sight that she’d been waiting for- a door. With a smile and a laugh, she rushed forwards, pushed on the button to open it, and was greeted by the beautiful sight of-

A swimming pool.

Clara pushed the button again to close the door and glared at the ceiling. Still, she supposed this was better than the previously empty corridors. She’d just have to be happy for a small step. With any luck, the kitchen would be behind the next door.

...It wasn’t.

Behind the next door was a wardrobe larger than any that Clara had seen before. The one after that hid an entertainment room, and then there was what looked like some sort of lab. The doors kept coming, but while Clara saw a variety of interesting sights, none of them were what she was looking for.

With no way to check the time, Clara had no idea how long she’d been searching for. All that she knew was that all of this walking was slowly making her more and more exhausted.

After closing the door to the zoo, she leaned heavily against the wall, rubbing at her eyes to keep them awake.

“Please. I’m exhausted. Please, just give me what I’m looking for.”

She waited a few moments, before pulling herself back up and approaching the door across the corridor. She pressed the button, and was met with a room that was very much not a kitchen.

The room was pure white on the ground, with sheets, pillows and blankets in place of a floor. The walls were painted pale pastels, but the true sight to see there was the ceiling. It was dark, but not totally black, with beautiful lights dancing about. It was utterly breathtaking.

Despite her desire for the kitchen, Clara couldn’t help but take a step in. The door slid shut behind her without any provocation from Clara, but she didn’t notice. Under her feet the soft blankets were a welcome change from the cold metal of the corridors. She took a few more steps in, before dropping to her knees with a smile. She wondered why she’d never seen this room before- but then again, she’d passed through a lot of rooms that she hadn’t seen before tonight.

Clara still wanted to go to the kitchen to make herself some tea, to wake herself up properly, but the pillow room was so comfortable. There’d be no harm in shutting her eyes for just a few moments, surely.

By the time Clara fell asleep, all that was on her mind were the wondrous sights that she’d seen throughout the ship. She couldn’t remember anything about her nightmare.

In the morning when she woke up, Clara considered that maybe everything the TARDIS had put her through was a convoluted plot to coax her back to sleep. She quickly disregarded that theory, because the ship hated her, and would never try to do something that kind for her. Still, it was a nice thought.

* * *

“You look tired.”

Artie Maitland looked up from the book he’d been reading and observed his nanny with a curious frown. He thought that maybe pointing out how tired she looked was a little bit rude, but it  _ was _ true. She did look very tired, and he wasn’t really sure why. “Did you fight with your boyfriend?”

That one made Clara laugh, but it was a strange, quiet sort of laugh. “No, Artie.”

Clara Oswald didn’t actually have a boyfriend, but it seemed too much work to try to convince her kids of that, so she tended not to bother with it. Lately, she hadn’t really been bothering with anything that used up extra energy, because Artie was right. She  _ was _ tired. Exhausted, even.

That’s what shattering yourself into hundred of thousands of pieces will do, she supposed.

“Then why are you tired?”

Of course, there was no way to tell anyone what had actually happened. Even if they’d believe it, where would she start? It was too much information, and anyway, thinking about it in too much detail… wasn’t fun.

“Oh, you know. This and that,” Artie clearly wasn’t going to accept that answer, so before he could ask another question, Clara inserted one of her own, “Don’t you need to finish that book by Monday?”

A sheepish look crossed Artie’s face, and he returned to reading. He’d probably forget all about her exhaustion soon, anyway. That was the beauty of childhood- although, he wasn’t exactly a child anymore. With a frown, Clara considered that her time with the Maitlands might be coming to an end soon.

* * *

Everything happened all at once. In one single moment, Clara was born, lived and died- and all the while she was falling. Or was she running? Or maybe she was doing both- running, falling, living, dying. All of it, all at once, in one chaotic moment. A moment that lasted as long as eternity, or all of eternity crammed into one tiny moment, or somehow, again, both at once.

In her mind, on repeat, there was death. Death, death, death. Her own, her friends, her family, complete strangers. It didn’t matter who, it was just all happening. Falling from a cloud. Exploding on a strange planet. Freezing in the arctic. So many more deaths, over and over again.

And through it all, there he was. Just a few feet in front of her. Then just a step. Then, maybe, if she reached out, she could just touch him- but before her hand could snag the back of his jacket, something pierced her body. There was blood, and pain, and she couldn’t make a noise. He just ran further away, not looking back, not even noticing that she was right there.

Then her eyes snapped open.

She wasn’t in pain. She wasn’t dying. She wasn’t even falling or running. She was sitting bolt upright in a bed. Her breathing was ragged and her eyes darted about frantically, but she was here. She was here, she was here, she was here, and she was alive.

...And she was exhausted.

* * *

“A sleep patch?”

Clara didn’t sound like she trusted this new idea.

“It’s perfectly safe!” The Doctor insisted. He held a small box in his hands and, inside, were four white patches.

The patches didn’t look dangerous in any way, but still, Clara was suspicious. It was as if every part of her was screaming not to agree to this. She gave the Doctor a look. “What makes you think I’d need them, anyway?”

He returned it with a look of his own. “You nearly fell asleep during the peace negotiations on Ursa Seven!”

“That wasn’t my fault!” She pulled a face and turned her attention to the TARDIS console, fiddling with some buttons so she wouldn’t have to look at him, “It was just boring.”

The Doctor scoffed. “Clara Oswald, you know that you can’t lie to me.”

She continued to avoid looking at him. “...How do they work?”

“Oh, well, you wouldn’t be interested in all of that,” he walked around so he was right in front of her, making it more difficult for her to look away. He held out the box again.

“You not explaining is just making me more suspicious!” The Doctor loved explaining things. Usually, he’d be jumping over backwards to infodump about something, regardless of whether Clara was actually interested or not. He loved sounding smart. So what was it about these sleep patches that he thought Clara wouldn’t approve of?

“They just induce sleep!” He protested. Clara didn’t buy it.

“I told you no, Doctor. I don’t need them.”

* * *

Clara was standing in the middle of her bedroom with a blank expression. She couldn’t for the life of her remember how she’d gotten there- actually, she couldn’t remember much of anything. Where she was, how she’d gotten here… even who she was, she wasn’t quite sure.

Clara? Oswin? Winnie? Someone else entirely? Every time she thought she’d grasped the answer, it faded away. It was like trying to grab a handful of fog. It just wasn’t possible, no matter how hard you tried.

She looked around the room, examining trinkets, photos and old scrapbooks, but there was no familiarity from them. It was like she’d walked into someone else’s life.

She couldn’t tell you how long she stayed in her room with that strange haze over her mind, but eventually, a wheezing noise filled the air, cutting through and pulling her out of the dark.

She sat on her bed, a concerned frown on her face. She felt as if her nightmares were growing stronger, pulling themselves out of her subconscious mind and invading her day to day life. Her waking life had been a safe refuge from her terrifying nights, but what was she supposed to do if she no longer had even that?

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, then stopped. There was a knock on her door, and a concerned voice. “Clara?”

She stood up and walked towards the door, pulling it open and seeing the face of a familiar man with a ridiculous sense of fashion and a ginormous chin. He opened his mouth to speak, but Clara beat him to it.

“I changed my mind.” She spoke quickly, her words coming out all at once. “The sleep patches- I’ll try them.”

* * *

In her dream, she was everywhere at once. Falling, running, living, dying. All of it on one moment, all of it to save the Doctor. He was always one step ahead, and just when Clara caught up to him she’d tumble and fall, fall, fall- down to her death. Then she’d have to start all over again, and he’d be even further away.

That was how the dreams worked, fundamentally.

It was the pattern that they all followed, no matter what.

Except tonight.

Tonight, Clara ran, and she came so close to catching up with him. She reached out to grab him, to let him know that she was there. Then the ground under her feet disappeared.

There was a moment of abject horror as she realised that she was going to fall- as she looked down and saw just how far below the ground was- but then- then there was a strong grip on her outstretched arm. Pulling her back to safety. A pair of arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close. Keeping her safe. Protecting her.

She returned his embrace, holding him just as tightly. She didn’t ever want to let go.

* * *

After that, whenever she took a sleep patch at night, her night terrors had more pleasant conclusions. As if someone was rewriting them as she slept, ensuring that they’d end with a happy ending. Changing the genre, removing the tragedy.

Clara didn’t really understand how the sleep patches worked, however, remembering that the Doctor’s avoidance meant she wouldn’t approve of them, she stopped asking.

Ignorance is bliss, she decided. If the truth of them would be something bad enough to make her refuse the treatment altogether, she’d prefer not to know.

Of course, one day, years later, she did find out. They weren’t sleep patches at all, but dream patches. Induce a highly suggestive telepathic state. They weren’t just giving her better dreams, but rather, they were allowing the Doctor access to her terrors. Allowing him to protect her in the one realm where she’d been so sure he couldn’t.

When she’d worked it out, she’d worried about what he’d seen. She worried that something there might have changed things between them- so one night, as the pair of them sat in the TARDIS’s library, quietly enjoying each other’s attention, she turned to him, and she asked.

The Doctor just looked over at her with a curious expression on his new-old face, and said, “Clara Oswald, nothing could change what I think about you.”


End file.
